


The Winter of Dead

by Loubrator



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Famous Harry, Kinda, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Famous Louis, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Louis, Rich Harry, Super minor - Freeform, not sure what exactly to tag this as but lets go with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loubrator/pseuds/Loubrator
Summary: “I’ve heard of that family, and I’ve heard of that job. The family is nice enough, apparently, and they plan on paying generously, but... I don’t think you should take it.”Louis’ eyes widen. He doesn’t understand.“But why not? C’mon, Cordo, maybe they’ll have me! And I gotta try for Niall. I have to.” His voice is pleading and desperate, but he doesn’t care, because he knows he’d never take a job when James is so much against it. He trusts him with his life, Louis does.“Because you’d be a rich brat’s personal assistant, Louis. You’d have to work day and night, and as nice as people claim the Styles family to be, they’re still further up the social ladder than we’ll ever be.”





	The Winter of Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for almost two years now, and I'm still not even halfway done. I decided to post it in order to find motivation to finish it. 
> 
> Written for my lovely Hanni. Beta'd by the dearest Scarlett. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated Xxx.

He pulls his beanie further down on his head to keep the cold from turning his ears red, thinking about how much he regrets letting Lou cut his hair a few days back. Winters in London are harsh and unforgiving, and his long hair definitely would've contributed to the warmth under the beanie Zayn had snatched from the posh ladies’ boutique down at Oxford Street while he was polishing passerby’s shoes. He's glad he's got that, at least; last week was even worse with all the snow covering the streets of the city, melting slowly and leaving the pavements wet, and he didn't have anything to keep the thick flakes from falling onto his hair and soaking it.

He clutches the small stool tighter in his dainty hands, the dirty piece of fabric he's holding making his fingers black. James told him to go to the main bridge about an hour ago, but Louis was too invested in the book he was reading to the Winston twins, and Ben even gave him a coin extra. James won't mind, he's sure.

The sun is just about to rise and the wind is blowing from all directions, making him want to pull his jacket tighter around his body. He usually gets up earlier to find places where rich tourists like to visit—places with posh Londoners wandering around and showing off their expensive winter attire, smoking cigars that cost more than the building Louis lives in—but today he made an exception. Last week was a disaster; people seemed to avoid the streets and shops, opting to stay in their warm houses instead, so the boy couldn't make much money. Louis is just glad Ben let him stay with his kids longer.

When he finds a nice spot at the foot of the bridge, Louis sits down on the hard pavement and places the stool in front of him. Soon enough there's a foot on it, clad in a dusty black shoe, and Louis starts to polish it with his cotton cloth. He needs to wash it soon, he thinks as he swipes from left to right on the man's shoe, or else it'll be too dirty and he won't be getting any money for his work. The man throws a coin in front of him when he's finished, and Louis manages a small _thank you, sir_ before the man's walking off again.

And so it goes.

People pass by, halt to let Louis polish their too expensive footwear, and throw him a few pennies before scurrying off again. Some of them are friendly; smiling at him and engaging in conversation about the weather, and Louis is glad, because even if it's only a minute or two of talking, they're not being dalcops to him. Others are indifferent; just caring about getting their shoes cleaned and not letting out a peep—not even smiling at him. Most people are horrible, though; giving him disgusted looks and throwing harsh words at him, calling him a disgrace and society's rat. He's just thankful that people stopped spitting on him like they did in the beginning. He's never felt more humiliated than on the first week of sitting by the bridge, when people weren't used to him there and got upset over him trying to earn a few coins by doing them something good. Louis learned to ignore it all though, and now he appreciates the change in people's behaviour.

He's used to all of it, though. He's been on the streets for as long as he can remember; trying to earn a coin or two to get something to eat, sitting and begging people for money, sleeping in alleys where the wind could only barely reach him. He was sixteen when James found him and took him in along with a few other kids, and they all learned to stick together and survive as friends.

Louis gathers the few coins and quickly stuffs them into the pocket of his worn-out jacket, because if people see that he's already gathered some money, they'll think he's got enough and more often than not, they give him less and less. It isn't enough, though—it never will be.

James doesn't have any kids himself, but what he's got is a small flat in Croydon, which is likely the shittiest part of the capital, along with a small workshop close to central London. Louis doesn't know why exactly he has made it his mission to help the poor kids in need—he never asks, but he isn't complaining. He gets food and a roof over his head, James' clients tell him where to find jobs for the kids to work at, and none of them starve. It's more than Louis' had since he was seven, and he thanks God every day that he found the workshop three years ago.

It's already getting dark, Louis notices as he takes care of a young woman's high heel, and he knows he should be getting home soon or else it'll get too dangerous. When he was younger he didn't really work much; he used to beg for money and sometimes even steal a scone or two from the bakery—that was how he got by. Now that he's started going places and showing his face around, people have started noticing him, and if he's not careful, he might get robbed or even killed. There's more attention on him than he'd like there to be.

The young woman smiles at him before pressing two coins into his hand and walking away with a wink, and Louis nods at her with a small smile, pocketing his earnings and standing up to gather his belongings to go home. The shoe-cleaning business isn't the easiest—it sure is the coldest—but people pay him far more than they pay Zayn, who's selling ripped newspapers, because finding quality papers in good shape is impossible in their situation. They switch every few months, Louis, Zayn, Niall, and Ed, but the only steady job Louis keeps is reading to Ben Winston's daughters, because he's the only one out of the four who can read properly, and Ben desperately needs someone to keep his kids busy while he's grading his pupils' homework. Mrs. Winston died a year ago, and while that's tragic, Louis is glad he got employed at a place that pays well and gives him something to look forward to every time he makes his way there.

The journey to James' flat isn't short, but Louis never minds; he greets the people who greet him and stops to have a short chat with the people he knows.

"Been good today?" Lou asks him as he passes by her barber shop.

"Would've been better if I still had me hair." He laughs and ducks when she throws a towel at him before continuing his way home.

He reaches the main entrance of the flat complex about an hour and a half later, his fingers shaking and his cheeks blotchy from the cold. He stopped feeling his toes about four hours ago. The door isn't locked—it never is—but opening it is hard if you don't know how, so nobody's worried. Louis kicks the lower half of the heavy door twice, before pushing at it with one hand while holding the door handle up with the other. It takes a few minutes, but he lets out a sigh of relief when he can finally make his way up the creaky stairs to the flat.

He knocks in a pattern, because that's how they do it, and soon enough the door opens and reveals a red- cheeked Zayn standing in front of him.

"Mate! 'aven't seen ya in ages," Zayn gushes before enveloping Louis in a tight hug, burying his face in Louis' neck. Louis sleeps at Ben's sometimes, when it gets too late to go home. Ben never minds—at least Louis' useful to him. The boys have learned not to worry, but now that the days are getting colder and the streets are getting more dangerous, it's kind of hard not to.

"Yeah," Louis mumbles before detaching himself from Zayn and stepping into the shabby flat, the warmth engulfing him immediately and making his skin tingle from the sudden change in temperature. "Been busy: there's a lot of tourists in London this year."

He doesn't shed his jacket—he still feels too cold—but he throws his beanie onto the shelf by the door and walks into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, his mouth dry.

Ed gives him a nod, never really one to talk any more than needed. "James said he'd get us some good Yorkshire soon," he informs Louis. "The workshop's been busy more often than not, and he wants to treat us to summat, 's what he said."

Louis gulps down a few mouthfuls of the murky water, rolling his eyes. "He doesn't have to do that, he gives us enough."

"Not complainin', mate." Ed shrugs before going back to knitting the scarf he's been working on for days now. Barbara from the bakery down the road gave him some wool after he'd helped her rebuild a wall after a carriage had crashed into it. She didn't have money, so she gave him what he needed for knitting and showed him the easiest pattern for making a scarf. Louis is thankful Ed's a fast learner.

Louis' stomach grumbles but he ignores it. He knows they'll have dinner later on and snacking is an absolute no, so instead he makes his way down the tiny hallway into James' room.

The light is out and the curtains are drawn, so he pulls back one curtain and sits on the edge of the bed where Niall is lying.

"Mate. C'mon, open your eyes," he requests softly, and he doesn't have to wait long before his friend's eyes are fluttering open, revealing red-rimmed, blue orbs.

"Hi," Niall croaks but immediately starts coughing, turning away from Louis.

"You don't have to talk, it's okay. You're not feeling better, I take it?"

"A bit," Niall responds despite Louis' demand. "The medicine is working well enough. There's not much left, though."

Louis takes a look at the bottle on the nightstand next to the bed, cursing inwardly. There's a few gulps of coughing syrup left, four at most, and they can't really afford to buy more. He'll have to think of something soon, or else Niall's situation will get worse, and Louis doesn't even want to think about what could happen.

"We're gonna get you help, Nialler, I promise." Niall smiles at him with exhaustion in his eyes. "Sleep now, c'mon. James is bringing us Yorkshire tea tomorrow."

"Aces." Niall grins before going back to sleep, and Louis leaves the room, deciding to get warm by the fire in the small living space.

They all usually sleep on the floor there, thick blankets under and over them, but now that Niall's sick he has taken James' bedroom, who's occupying the couch for the time being. It could be worse, Louis thinks.  

A few hours later, when Ed has gone to the shop to take over James' shift like he does every so often, James stumbles into the warm flat, greeting the boys one by one. Zayn is in the kitchen, cooking some kind of stew with vegetables he nicked from a grocery store. He's not a bad guy, Zayn isn't, but he knows that what they need is expensive and not easy to buy in their situation, so he... borrows it—and just never gives it back. He's never gotten into trouble, though, and as long as he keeps it that way, Louis won't sweat it.

"How's Niall?" James asks Louis in private after they have eaten, sitting at the kitchen table.

Louis frowns. "Not good, 'm afraid. I'll have to think of something to do so I can get some more money. His medicine's almost gone."

He hears James sigh beside him, and he knows what he's about to say, but Louis has become good at ignoring it. "Louis, listen... It isn't your job to get the most money in, just like it isn't your job to save Niall. We all know medicine isn't gonna do much if he doesn't see a proper doctor, and who knows how long it's gonna take 'til we have the money for that."

Louis turns to him with fury in his eyes, his jaw twitching. "So what do you suggest we do, huh? Let him die? His lungs are gonna get infected! Pneumonia isn't something to joke about. The fever is bad enough."

"I know. Trust me, I do," he hears beside him, but he's not really listening anymore.

"'m gonna go to sleep," he throws over his shoulder before going into the living room to make himself comfortable. He spreads a blanket on the floor and takes a small pillow from the closet by the fireplace, lying down and shutting his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

Thoughts are running through his head, not letting him sleep for a long time. He has no idea what to do. He needs to help his best friend, but he knows that it's gonna take a decade to gather the money they need to pay the bill for a doctor, their jobs just don't pay enough. He could get up earlier tomorrow and work a bit longer, see if there's someone somewhere who needs help with whatever, Louis would do anything. He just wishes that it wasn't winter; he doesn't need any of the other boys getting sick, too. Maybe James is right, he thinks. Maybe he does feel too protective, but he's the oldest out of the four, and if he doesn't take care of them, who will?

Sleep doesn't come for a long time, but when it does, he has nightmares.

*  


The next day is a bit warmer—Louis thanks God for that—so people are friendlier and his hands are a lighter shade of red when he finally gets home after eleven hours of sitting in the cold. Upon entering the kitchen, he sees a pot with boiling water on the small stove, and a smile spreads across his face.

“You brought the tea!” he exclaims when he sees James, and the man just laughs.

“I promised, didn’t I? Now make yourself and Nialler a cuppa and take it to him. He’s been awfully quiet today,” James says before throwing today’s newspapers onto the table and walking out of the flat.

Louis does as he is told and prepares two cups of tea before carrying them into the room that Niall’s staying in. Niall smiles when he sees what Louis has brought him and accepts the cup with a small nod. Louis sits on the edge again while they wordlessly sip on their hot beverages.

“Thank you for everything, Lou,” Niall whispers after a while, his eyes droopy. Louis smiles and nods at him, taking Niall’s hand in his and playing with his fingers. He loves all the boys, he really does, but Niall is his favourite. The youngest out of all of them at the age of seventeen, Niall always lives recklessly, a huge beam on his face and his eyes kind to every stranger. Louis feels like he’s a big brother to Niall; feels like he’s got a deeper connection with him than he ever will with anyone else. The two of them have lived through so much shit together; together they ran away from robbers who wanted to steal their money and slit their throats, Louis once saved Niall from getting hit by a car, and Niall talked Louis out of jumping off a bridge and ending all his misery. They don’t talk about it, though. They just know.

“We’re gonna get you healthy again, Ni. I promise,” Louis says softly, like he always does. Niall smiles at him tiredly and soon enough he’s dead to the world, slipping into sleep. Louis sighs quietly, standing up and leaving his friend with a kiss to the temple.

As he goes to open the closet where they keep blankets and pillows to take some of them out and prepare for bed, the door lets out a creak and falls off, loudly crashing onto the floor in front of Louis. He sighs and picks it up, moving it out of the way before cleaning away everything that fell onto the floor. The flat is shabby and it feels like the walls are gonna collapse at any given moment, but it’s better than the streets Louis used to sleep on, so he doesn’t dare complain.

Just as he’s about to lay down to sleep, Zayn comes rushing into the living room, his nose and cheeks red, his breathing labored.

“Everything okay?” Louis asks with his eyebrows raised, the feeling of worry immediately kicking in.

Zayn inhales and exhales before nodding hurriedly. “I was helping Barbara clean the kitchen at the bakery today, and I heard two men talking,” Zayn explains, “and they said there’s this rich family who are looking for someone to look after their son. Y’know, be his personal servant or summat like that, work for him and him only. One of them knows them personally, said the family pays well, and they’re looking for someone young, preferably someone who isn’t illiterate.” Zayn beams when he finishes. “Their name is Styles. The Styles family and their son, or summat.”

And Zayn is right, a rich family _is_ looking for someone to babysit their boy, Louis has heard about it.

“One of them knows the family. You should ask James to talk to them, I’m sure you could get the job easily!”

“I don’t know, mate,” Louis says after a bit. “Can’t imagine they’d want a street rat looking after their posh angel of a son. The kid, Harry Styles—I’ve heard of him. He’s one of England’s best piano players, travelling around Europe and shit. They’re fuckin’ loaded. They need a pretty little nanny, not me.” He ignores the frown on Zayn’s face. “Thanks for letting me know, though.”  

“Lou, you’re perfect for the job,” Zayn says. “I just know it. You’re good with kids, and you’re polite and lovely when you have to be.” He laughs when Louis shoves him. “At least go and try, yeah? Nothing bad can happen.”

“I don’t know...”

“Think about the money, Lou. Think about Niall.”

That gets Louis’ attention. If anything, it’s worth it for Niall.

“Alright,” Louis says, giving in, “I’ll talk to James.”

The beam Zayn sends his way is almost blinding.

*  


He waits until James returns to talk to him, because he fears that if he waits for tomorrow night to bring it up, the job won’t be available anymore, so he sits at the small kitchen table, blanket draped over his shoulders, and waits.

Just as his eyes begin to shut on their own accord, he hears the front door being closed gently, and soon enough James is walking into the room.

His eyes widen when he sees Louis, the surprise clear in his voice. “Lou! What are you doing up this late? You’re usually the first one to go to sleep!” He walks over to the table and takes an apple from the bowl before seating himself across from Louis. “What’s on your mind, mate? Is it Niall again?” James asks, not unkindly.

“Well, not particularly.” He clears his throat and leans forward so he won’t have to talk too loud. His mouth feels a bit dry. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the job offer at the Styles residence—no, wait! Let me finish before you say anything,” he quickly says as he notices that James wants to interrupt him. James lets out a _whoosh_ of breath before motioning for Louis to continue. “So, as I was saying, the Styles family is looking for someone to babysit their precious son, and Zayn suggested I go and see if I’ll get the job. Now, before deciding anything, I wanted to ask you for permission.”

James raises his eyebrows. “Ask me for permission? That’s new, Tommo.”

Louis smiles sheepishly. “Seemed fair, y’know.”

“Well, then,” James’ features mold into something more serious, “I’ve heard of that family, and I’ve heard of that job. The family is nice enough, apparently, and they plan on paying generously, but... I don’t think you should take it.”

Louis’ eyes widen. He doesn’t understand.

“But why not? C’mon, Cordo, maybe they’ll have me! And I gotta try for Niall. I have to.” His voice is pleading and desperate, but he doesn’t care, because he knows he’d never take a job when James is so much against it. He trusts him with his life, Louis does.

“Because you’d be a rich brat’s personal assistant, Louis. You’d have to work day and night, and as nice as people claim the Styles family to be, they’re still further up the social ladder than we’ll ever be.” He lets out a sigh. “I wouldn’t say they hate us, but it’s pretty close.”

Louis frowns as he looks out the window. It’s raining, because of course it is, and London turns ugly when God is letting his tears fall onto the roofs of the city. Thoughts of cold wind and wet streets cross Louis’ mind, and he’s really dreading tomorrow.

“I wanna try, though,” he finally declares. “There’s no harm in that, right?”

James shrugs, contemplating it. “I guess not. Just—if you get turned down, don’t be too disappointed.”

“So, you’ll talk to some people? Use your connections?” Louis teases, his grin widening.

“Oi, watch your mouth, you little shit!” James laughs, before nodding, his expression serious again. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”

Standing up, Louis smiles and pats James on the back. “G’night, Cordo.”

James gives him a fond smile. “Sleep well, Tommo.”

*  


The Styles residence is something like a palace, big and bright and breathtaking in the morning light, the garden reminding Louis of a labyrinth and the pebbles on the way up to the front door looking like they’re made from silver. He has no idea what the family does for a living, but he’s never seen something like this belonging to a family that isn’t royal or in politics.

Walking beside him is James, who volunteered to take Louis because he had no idea where the house was (and maybe also because he was pissing himself a little bit). Guarding the entrance of the huge building are two men in uniforms, standing stiff and letting their eyes wander around. Louis hopes they aren’t too late.

They get to the front entrance, and Louis only has a minute to admire the golden flourish on the door before one of the guards yanks it open wordlessly, revealing a spacious hallway.

“Thanks,” James mumbles before giving Louis a small push, and they start walking into the mansion. Louis takes in all of the chandeliers hanging in the entrance hall, gold and white all over the walls, paintings placed perfectly the whole way along. His head’s spinning. At the foot of a set of stairs is a petite girl, not much younger than he is, standing and smiling at them uncomfortably. When they get close enough to her, he sees her eyeing them.

“Can I help you?” is the first thing she lets out, and Louis tries not to be annoyed.

“I think so, young lady!” James responds when it becomes clear that Louis’ not going to. “We’re here for the job offer... For the personal assistant?”

The girl raises one perfectly done eyebrow. “You’re Louis Tomlinson?”

Louis nods, opting for a charming smile. “The one and only, Miss.”

The girl nods, swiping her brown hair back before sighing. “My name is Eleanor Calder and _my_ job is to make sure to answer any and every question you may have, so you can do your job. Whenever you need something, don’t hesitate to ask me. Alright? Good. Now follow me, please.”

Louis says a quick goodbye to James before following her past the stairs and down a long hallway, keeping up a fast pace and trying not to trip over the expensive looking rugs. Louis’ glad he thought of cleaning his shoes before coming here. He tries not to get caught up looking at the heavy wooden doors and huge mirrors; he doesn’t need the girl to think he’s tardy.

Suddenly, she stops and turns to him. “These are your rooms. You’ll be living in here for as long as the Styles family needs your services. You are allowed to leave the residence after your shift; you will informed when that is. Furthermore—“

“Wait, what?” Louis interrupts loudly, ignoring her raised eyebrows. “I’m going to live here?!”

She nods slowly, confused as to what the problem is. “Yes... You’re going to be taken care of, everything you need is free for you to use... What did you think?”

“I—I thought I’d go home after work...” he stammers, feeling himself blush.

Eleanor chuckles warmly, shaking her head. “No, you have to stay in case Sir Styles needs something during the night. We’re taking you under our wing.” Her smile falls quickly. “Why, is that a problem?”

“No!” Louis denies. “Not at all, it’s just... I haven’t brought any clothes, or any belongings...” The truth is, he doesn’t even have many clothes to bring. The ones he has are ripped and worn out, and he’d be ashamed to take those to a posh place like the Styles mansion.

“Oh, we’ll get you clothes! Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you,” she repeats, her smile warm when she notices how nervous he is. “Anne insists.”

Louis doesn’t know who Anne is, but he doesn’t question it.

Eleanor opens the big doors and Louis feels his jaw drop. The room is spacious and flooded with light, decorated in warm orange and red colours, the bed in the middle of it looking like it’s made of clouds.

“These are your chambers, Louis. The bathroom is right over there, your closet will be filled with enough clothes as soon as possible, and the cleaning staff will make sure everything remains in order. Your shift starts at six, except if you have to work at night. It ends whenever Sir Styles wishes for it to end. I can’t tell you any more than that. You’ll eat your meals in the dining hall with the family and other personal assistants; I’ll come and get you for that. Any more questions?”

Louis shakes his head no, still admiring his surroundings.

Eleanor smiles. “Great. Work starts tomorrow, you can use the rest of today to explore and get used to your new home. Utmost politeness and respect are expected upon meeting anyone who belongs to the residence, so please, do behave yourself. If you need any help, my chambers are at the end of this hallway. I’ll always be willing to answer any questions you may have. Everything clear?”

“Yes.” Louis nods, a little dazed. “Thank you very much.”

She smiles before turning around, walking out of the door with a, “My pleasure!” thrown over her shoulder.

Louis doesn’t even know how he got the job, is the thing. A week after he had talked to James about it, he just turned up and told Louis he’d gotten it and to get mentally ready for the rich snobs rubbing their wealth in his face. He never mentioned that Louis had to live there, though, so to say that the boy is overwhelmed is the understatement of the century. He’ll have to contact James as soon as possible to let him know.

That’s gonna be interesting, he thinks as he lets himself fall onto the bed.

*  


Venturing through the halls of a building that resembles a castle isn't as easy as Louis first thought; finding his way back to his rooms becomes a real struggle. He doesn't let that deter him though, listening through the door cracks and opening them if he doesn't hear any signs of people being in the room beyond. So far he's stumbled upon the music room, full of instruments he has never seen and a huge piano in the middle. He had to try playing, of course, but discovered that the stupid thing was making way too much noise and gave up soon after. He's also seen a few other guest rooms, walk in closets and a few empty rooms, but he hasn’t found anything juicy anywhere. He's getting bored, slowly but surely, and he wishes he could start work right fucking now. He decides to have a look around the gardens that fascinated him upon arriving, so he fetches his jacket from his room and goes to leave.

Just as he's about to find the stairs so he can go outside, a movement catches his eye. Ignoring it, he continues to walk down the hall, but when Louis hears some shuffling behind him, he stops. He turns around slowly, making sure it's not noticeable, and sees a figure standing around the corner, watching him. Trying not to let his irritation show, he walks towards the person slowly and soon enough, he's facing a boy dressed in a satin shirt and expensive looking trousers made of quality material, his eyes wide from where they're peeking out at him from under his curls. He looks like a child, all babyfaced and cherubic. If he wasn't this tall, Louis would think he's a lot younger than himself.

"It isn't polite to follow people around, don't you know?" Louis decides to break the silence, smiling mischievously. He has a feeling this boy is gonna end his boredom pretty soon.

"Who are you?" Curly asks in a deep voice, and, okay. He looks as irritated as Louis feels. There's no way in hell he'll let that show, though.

Putting on a fake grin, he grits out. "My name is Louis William Tomlinson, and I am here to work for Sir Harry Styles. Starting tomorrow, to be exact."

Surprise flashes across the boy’s face, but it's gone as soon as it came. "You?" he spits, making Louis frown at him. "They hired _you_ to take care of the youngest piano prodigy in all the land?" Curly eyes him up and down, snarling. "I doubt that. Now go—get off this property before I call the guards."

"And who are you to threaten me like this?" Louis asks, annoyed. Eleanor’s order of being polite and respectful has been long forgotten. Who does this boy think he is, following Louis around and snooping around someone else's business?

"Watch your mouth, peasant, or else—"

"Or else what, huh? You'll get your guards, is that it? Do whatever you want. I know why I'm here, and if you have a problem with that, then you can run along." Taking a deep breath, he plasters the biggest, fakest smile onto his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me." With that, he walks past the boy, making sure to bump their shoulders together before going for the exit.

The crisp air outside does next to nothing to calm him down; the cold makes him even crankier. He hasn't been in that goddamn house for more than two hours and already people are doing the most to piss him off. He's thankful, don't get him wrong—this is the best thing that has happened to him since finding James, he won't give it up for anything—but he expected rich folk to be a little more... polite. Human. He's used to the people on the streets, fighting to survive, acting like starving dogs, but he guesses rich people aren't too different except for how they have everything and want even more. And that boy, dear Lord, he was oozing arrogance, clearly looking down on Louis and making it his goal to make him feel as insignificant as possible.

Louis hopes he won't have to converse with him ever again and decides to avoid him at all costs, without it being too noticeable, of course. Furthermore, he hopes that lad wasn't anyone important, or else he'll get into big trouble, he's sure. His mood slowly lifts as he walks through the well-kept gardens, the neatly trimmed bushes and dead flowers fascinating him in some ways. He's so used to filthy pavements and crooked brick walls, but this... this is natural and green and beautiful. Upon hearing the loud sound of a clock dinging two hours later, he makes his way back into the mansion, hoping his patience doesn't get the better of him again. He knows it could be very dangerous in a place like this.

When he gets into his room shortly before he's supposed to be at the dining hall, he finds his closet full of clothes and shoes, scarves and hats. Willing his eyes not to tear up he looks through the materials, the silk and cotton shirts soft beneath his fingers. The three pairs of shoes are polished and look comfortable, the scarves not something he'd consider necessary, but he's thankful nevertheless. His heart won't stop racing.

Hearing a soft chuckle behind him, he turns around quickly. "I take it you like your new clothes?" says Eleanor with a small smile on her face, her features soft.

Louis doesn't really know what to say. "I'm... Thank you. Thank you so much."

"You can thank Lady Styles for that, Louis. And you can right now, if you'd follow me to dinner, please."

Louis nods again, at a loss for words, before following the girl out of the room and down the stairwell.

*  


The dining hall is as impressive as Louis expected it to be. A long table with chairs on either side is in the middle of the room, chandeliers dangling above it and expensive paintings decorating the walls. He sees some statues of naked men standing around and tries not to laugh at the penis size the sculptors have chosen for them. There’s people standing at the table, looking at him curiously as Eleanor leads him to a seat close to one end of the table, and he tries not to shrink in on himself.

“These are the personal assistants, maids and medical staff. We’re allowed to eat with the family; the rest of the staff have their own hall.” She then tells him to keep standing until Anne and Des Styles arrive, and he does so, crossing his hands in front of himself as he stands next to her and waits.

Soon enough a man and a woman enter the hall, and the idle chatter that could be heard before quiets down to silence. The woman takes a stand at one end of the table, next to Eleanor, the man at the other across the room, and everybody smiles at them kindly. Louis does as well, just to fit in.

“Welcome to dinner,” the man’s voice booms through the room. “We hope your day at work was as good as the one before. Now, before we start, let us say our prayers.”

Louis tries not to panic as everybody starts mumbling and praying, he just keeps his head down and hopes nobody notices he doesn’t know the words. He distinctly remembers his mother trying to teach him and his two sisters, but he quickly shuts down those thoughts lest he starts tearing up in a hall full of strangers.  He looks over at Eleanor who is looking at him confused and wide-eyed, but he quickly averts his gaze in favour of staring at his shoes, hoping the others will finish soon.

“Amen!” can be heard and then everybody takes a seat, returning to their chatting. He sees the man he assumes is Des Styles talking to the people, laughing and joking about. He feels someone tap him on the shoulder, and when he turns around, Eleanor is motioning behind herself. He looks over and sees a small woman looking at him with a kind smile on her face. He leans closer.

“Hello, dear. My name is Anne Styles,” she introduces herself, and Louis can feel himself getting nervous.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Louis replies. “My name is Louis William Tomlinson.”

“It is nice to finally put a face to the name. I’m terribly sorry my son isn’t here tonight, he’s out shooting arrows with his sister in the woods, but you’ll get to meet him tomorrow,” she continues in her calming voice, and Louis has already taken a liking to her. He’s got a feeling that she belongs to the good ones.

“I am excited to finally meet him, Ma’am.”

“Please, dear, call me Anne.”

His cheeks redden as he nods, feeling honored to be on her good side already. He leans back in his seat, and soon enough a dozen waiters enter the hall, serving dishes and big bowls full of steaming food. Louis’ mouth is watering—he hasn’t had anything other than murky stew in three days—but he refuses to let it show just how hungry he is. As everyone digs in, he eyes the food, too shy to actually take anything and not used to having this much food to choose from.

Eleanor must sense his hesitance, because she speaks up. “Go ahead: take whatever you like. It’s okay.” She smiles, and he gives her a small nod before spooning some mash onto his plate. He sets it down and slowly takes his fork, digging in and blowing on the food to cool it down, before putting it into his mouth. It tastes amazing, and Louis barely keeps from closing his eyes and letting out a moan. He can behave himself, though, so he eats and eats—slowly, because he doesn’t want to seem too eager and come across as a Barbarian.

It hits him, then, that this is going to be a routine from now on. He’s gonna get used to having warm food and clean clothes whenever he needs it—if he does a good job, that is. He realizes how lucky he truly is, and swears he’ll kiss James’ feet for getting him the job. Suppressing some happy tears, he continues to spoon food into his mouth until his belly is close to exploding.

After dinner, Eleanor takes him back to his rooms, and Louis thanks her for helping him.

“It’s really no problem at all,” she says as they walk, smiling kindly. “It’s my job, after all.”

“I admire your patience,” he mutters, smiling when she laughs.

“You know, some people take ages to get used to everything; the rules, the rooms…” she explains. “But you are a bright one, so stop putting yourself down. It’s not too much of a hassle.”

He gives her a small laugh and lets her explain when exactly he’ll be woken up. They part with a smile, both ready to call it a day, and Louis feels his veins fill with excitement before he can close his eyes to rest.

Tomorrow’s going to be a good day—he’s sure of that.

*  


He wakes up earlier than he’s supposed to, his internal clock not letting him sleep any longer. Louis feels guilty when he sleeps in—thinks about all the money he could’ve made in the time he wasted being lazy—so he just gets up as early as possible every single day.

He goes about dressing himself and mentally preparing for the day that is yet to start properly. He isn’t scared, per se; he just doesn’t want to fuck up and lose his job when he so clearly needs it. He’ll do his best—if not for himself, then for Niall. He’ll have to visit them all one of these days.

That’s when Eleanor barges into his room, interrupting his train of thought. “Oh, good morning! Didn’t think you’d be up yet,” she greets him, surprised.

“Good morning.” He returns the greeting. “I usually wake up a bit earlier, so I’m used to it. Can’t sleep much.”

She smiles but says nothing to that, instead informing him about where he should go and where he should be during the day.

“We’re going to have breakfast soon, together like yesterday, but first I have to introduce you to Sir Styles and his sister, Gemma.”

Louis nods. “Is he really a Sir?” he dares to ask, hoping he didn’t overstep a line.

Eleanor just laughs, shaking her head slightly. “He isn’t, no. To us he’s just Harry, but he wants strangers to call him Sir Styles upon meeting him, so he gains some respect. Just something he prefers, I guess.”

 _What an annoying child_ , Louis thinks to himself. He’d never encountered kids that bossy so early on, so he’s definitely not excited to meet Harry.

“After breakfast, Sir Styles goes and does some morning activities, such as running, stretching, and meditating. Please don’t ask me for any details—I do not know, and I do not care. Exercise isn’t really something I’m fond of,” she grumbles, making Louis laugh.

“You and me both, dear Ellie.” He smiles, and the grim expression is gone from her face as she returns it.

“Well, who can blame us? Anyway, while he’s running in the park or exercising by the benches, you need to carry a towel and a bottle of water at all times, so whenever he needs it, you can hand it to him.”

Louis’ eyes widen with a realization. “He can drink out of a glass bottle by himself, yes?”

Confusion is written all over Eleanor’s face. “Yes? Of course he can…”

Louis nods, relieved. He isn’t in the mood for a crying kid complaining about shards just because he couldn’t hold a glass bottle himself. He’s good with children, he really is, but it’s been a while since he’s had to deal with them. He tries not to think about it too much.

She shakes her head once before continuing. “Anyway, then he’s got to study for school and after that he’s got piano practice. Your job is to not let him get distracted. _Ever_. Is that clear?” She waits for his frantic nod. “Good, because Harry’s education is a priority to his parents, and his piano career is important to him. We have to make sure to satisfy all three of them, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I’ll find you after that and tell you if there are any more plans for today, and other than that, you can do whatever Sir Styles wants to do. You don’t have to worry, Louis—Harry is one of the loveliest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You’ll be just fine.”

Her smile is what calms him down, because if someone who appears as strict as Eleanor can get along with that Harry kid, then why couldn’t he? Nerves are still settled in the pit of his stomach, but he’s not worried anymore. He can do this.

*  


He can absolutely _not_ do this.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking. Doesn’t know what he was expecting, really, but this is surely not it.

He’s standing in the living space of the mansion, staring into frighteningly familiar green eyes, admiring luscious brown curls and gulping hard at the sight of a frown settled on pink lips. Louis is standing in front of Harry Styles— _Sir Harry Styles_ , he reminds himself—and he’s anything but the child Louis was expecting to meet.

“Louis William Tomlinson, huh?” he hears and winces at the familiarity of the deep voice. He looks up and sees a smirk playing on those full lips, and he’d very much like it if the ground was to swallow him whole right about now.

“Yes, Harry. He’ll be your personal assistant from now on.” Anne smiles, and Harry doesn’t even spare her a glance from where he’s seated on the two seater, instead eyeing Louis up and down.

“Well,” he drawls next, “can’t say I didn’t expect someone more… Professional. But...I’ll take it, I guess.”

 _Take it?_ Hell no; Louis won’t let that absolute brat speak about him that way. First disastrous encounter aside, he doesn’t deserve this.

“Harry—Sir Styles,” he corrects himself through gritted teeth at Harry’s harsh glare. “You didn’t even give me a chance to prove what an outstanding assistant I can be. You won’t regret hiring me, I can promise you that.” He sends a polite smile Anne’s way, and looks back at Harry.

The boy has got a frown on his face again, but Louis won’t let that be the cause of his sugary-sweet smile slipping off his face.

Harry’s expression turns indifferent. “Whatever, I’m hungry. Meet me in front of the house after breakfast. Don’t be late, or you’ll regret your poor choice. Am I making myself clear?”

 _Who does he think he is?_ Louis wonders. “Crystal, Sir,” he replies, waiting for Harry and his mother to exit the room before letting out an annoyed huff.

“Damn my big mouth and the fact that I can’t keep it shut,” he curses quietly before following them to the dining hall.

  


“Here’s how this is going to work,” Harry starts explaining as he stretches out his limbs before his workout. “I’m going to run laps around the pond in the park, and you are to stand by the bench and hold my towel and my water bottle. Hand me those items whenever I need them, and fetch me whatever I demand you to. Is that clear?”

His tone is strict, his demeanor arrogant, but Louis has endured worse behavior in his life. He’s been spat on, insulted, kicked by absolute strangers… A mouthy wannabe royal might as well be a blessing to him.

“Absolutely, Sir.” Louis smiles sarcastically, ignoring Harry’s eye roll. A few moments later, a man with broad shoulders approaches the boys, towel and water bottle in hand. He puts them onto the bench before introducing himself to Louis.

“My name is Mark, and I’m here to make sure Sir Styles stays in shape!” Despite his bulky appearance, his smile is friendly.

“Louis. It’s very nice to meet you,” Louis introduces while shaking the man’s strong hand, before sitting down and letting the both of them go about their plans. He’s prepared to sit here and get bored out of his mind, until:

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harry snaps, and Louis looks at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m… sitting down so I can wait for you to need me to hand you stuff?” he answers, unsure of what he’s done wrong.

“Stand up,” Harry orders, and Louis’ eyebrows raise on their own accord. “Keep standing. We can’t have you lazing around on your very first day.”

“So you want me to keep standing while you do your things… Just so I have a hard time?” Louis can feel his blood boiling, but doesn’t dare to speak up. Life on the streets has taught him better.

“No. I’m doing what’s best for you.”

Harry then decides that the conversation is over and turns around, walking away. Mark shoots Louis an apologetic look before following him.

Louis really feels like punching something right about now, but he thinks that wouldn’t look good, so he just takes Harry’s items and stands there, willing his anger to diffuse.

Sir Styles turns out to be a massive twat. Not that Louis wasn’t expecting it, but, you know, he had hoped that maybe he was wrong. He wasn’t.

In the two hours they have spent outside, Harry has asked all possible tasks of Louis. He was all _‘hand me my water’_ and ‘ _wipe my face with the towel’_ and _‘tie my shoelaces’,_ and Louis is so, _so_ sick of him already.

It didn’t help much that Harry looked majestic, even when he was doing exercise; his skin glimmering with a sheen of sweat and his curls bouncing as he ran. Louis pushes those thoughts to the very back of his head, because his distaste for the boy overweighs the attraction he feels towards him. Or doesn’t feel. Whatever.

“I’ll be seeing you in the music hall in exactly one hour, yes?” Harry asks as he walks up the steps, Louis hurrying behind him.

“Yes, I’ll be there,” Louis confirms, letting out a sigh of relief when Harry disappears inside. That boy is a monster, Louis is sure. His behavior is pissing him off a terrible amount, and Louis hopes he’ll get out of this job without throttling Harry. There’s a slim chance he will.

“Give him some time to get used to you,” he hears Mark say behind him. “He’s a bit defensive, our little Harry.” With that he walks into the mansion, leaving Louis to get rid of the empty bottles and dirty towels.

This day is going to be a long one, he knows.

*

Louis is about to smack someone, he really is. His patience is running thin. He’s not a patient person to begin with, but this boy is fucking testing it.

“No, Sir, you _have to_ practice that melody, and no other. Strict instructions from your teacher,” Louis says for what seems to be the thousandth time, keeping in mind that Eleanor told him to make sure Harry isn’t ever distracted while studying or playing the piano.

“Who do you think you are, forbidding things around here, acting as if you have any kind of control over me?” Harry hisses, throwing the music sheets on the ground. The papers scatter all over the room, and Louis feels a headache making its way into his brain.

“I have instructions that I need to fulfill, and you have responsibilities. Now, if you’d _please_ sit down again and play those notes, that’d be _splendid._ ” He doesn’t even try to hide his irritation. Why should he? It’s not like Harry is trying, either.

“I don’t care,” Harry replies stubbornly. “I don’t like the melody, it’s boring to me.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at Louis with his eyes glimmering challengingly, like they’re screaming ‘ _C’mon, make me. I dare you’._ Louis pointedly ignores his heated gaze.

He’s not one to give up, though.

“Alright. Alright, you don’t have to.” He sighs, and sees a flash of surprise cross Harry’s face. His stance changes, his hands relaxing and hanging by his sides. “It was probably a little too hard for you to play all those difficult notes. I’ll just tell your teacher to give you something easier next time.”

Harry’s mouth is slightly agape, staring at Louis with shock written all over his face. His eyes harden again, though, and he steps around the huge piano, darting towards Louis. He stands in front of him, close enough that Louis can smell him, clean and freshly bathed.

“What did you just say to me?” Harry asks, his voice dangerously low, filled with fury.

Louis’ got him exactly where he wants him.

“I said that it’s too difficult for you. You can’t do it, so you pretend you don’t want to.” His legs are slightly spread, his stance solid and confident, and he isn’t about to back down.

Harry lets out a humorless laugh, the fire in his eyes still present. “Do you even know who you are talking to, peasant?” he bites, and Louis holds back a laugh, because those words have stopped hurting a long time ago. “I’m England’s piano prodigy. I’m the Queen’s favourite. I’m loved and wanted all over the world. Something you can’t even dream of.” He smirks like he’s sure his words have cut through Louis, but Louis merely rolls his eyes.

“I’m aware, princess. Everybody wants you, everybody needs you, blah blah blah. But we haven’t got all day, and you need to play that fucking melody before your teacher kills you and me both, so get a move on.” Louis is done playing nice. He’s got a job to do, after all.

“It’s Sir Styles to you,” Harry replies coldly before stepping away from Louis and making his way over to the door, walking out and letting it slam shut.

Louis rubs his hands over his face and looks up at the ceiling, praying to God that he’ll make it out of here alive. Mark’s words pop into his head. _Give him some time to get used to you._ Louis isn’t sure he can, it’s only the first day, and he’s already losing his shit over this irritating arsehole.

He’ll just have to pull through. For Niall.

*

Harry is a stubborn little shit, Louis notices.

He wouldn’t do anything Louis told him to for a whole day, and no matter how hard Louis tried to be nice to him, the only thing he got was sarcastic replies and annoyed eye rolls. He’s sick of it.

“Oh, Sir Styles; you’re early today,” Louis greets him, trying very hard not to sound sarcastic. He’s decided to get to the music hall a little early, as he didn’t have much to do while Harry studied with his tutor.

“Don’t get used to it,” Harry replies without looking at Louis, and walks over to the piano where he sits down.

“Today we’re practicing the new melodies your teacher taught you yesterday, and afterwards you have to get ready for the dinner with the University committee. It’s a very important night for you.”

Louis has been acing this assistant thing, if you ask him. He never forgets appointments, makes sure he’s strict enough so Harry respects him (he doesn’t—not much anyway, but considering it’s only his third day here, he hasn’t lost hope) and he gets along with the other staff as well. It’s getting better.

“I know, _Lewis_ ,” Harry snarls, shaking out his slightly greasy hair. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but when duty calls…”

He says nothing after that; instead he starts playing yesterday’s piece, the melody calming Louis instantly. He wonders how someone as gifted and beautiful as Harry can be so unfriendly and cruel. What a shame.  

Louis is surprised to say the least, but he isn’t complaining, so he takes a seat close to the piano and watches Harry play. The boy is beautiful when he plays. He always is, really, but the concentration and passion that shows on his face make him look even more gorgeous, and Louis has to fight back a smile. After about thirty minutes, Harry abruptly stops playing.

“I’m done,” he announces and stands up, still not looking at Louis.

Louis freezes shortly before he springs into action, running to the door and blocking it so Harry couldn’t get out. “What do you mean, you’re done? You haven’t even been playing for a full hour.”

“I haven’t made a single mistake,” Harry says with a frown on his face. “I think I’ve mastered that melody to perfection. I want to go now.”

Louis sighs tiredly. _Not this mess again._ He wants to protest; wants to explain to Harry that, no matter how much he wants to go now, he can’t—he has to keep practicing, but before he can get a word out, the door bursts open, almost hitting him in the back.

“Oh, hello. I’m so sorry to interrupt,” comes Eleanor’s apologetic voice, and Louis watches as Harry’s demeanor changes completely.

“No problem, El. What is going on?” he asks with a sweet smile on his face, and even the hardness in his eyes has disappeared. Weird.

“I’m sorry I have to cut your piano practice short, but you should go and bathe now. Getting ready always takes ages.” Eleanor smiles at Louis shortly before looking back at Harry.

Harry nods with a smile. “Of course; I understand. Will you be joining us tonight, love?”

Eleanor shakes her head, and Louis notices a slight blush spread across her cheeks. “No, Harry, unfortunately not—but Louis will be.”

Louis’ head snaps up at the mention of his name. _What?_ He never agreed to this.

“Oh, really?” Harry says, his smile smaller than before, yet still friendly. “Splendid. I’m sure you’ll like it, Louis.”

Louis narrows his eyes but just nods, hoping his confusion doesn’t show too much.

“Thank you for informing us, El, we’ll be done shortly.”

Eleanor exits the hall with a smile, and Louis doesn’t know what to do now that he’s alone with Harry again.

“You heard what she said, Lewis: we’re done here. I trust you to be punctual and on your best behavior tonight—the last thing I need is a scandal.” Harry has his eyebrows raised, and Louis feels disappointment curl in his stomach. How does one have such extreme mood swings all the time?

“Of course, Sir. Don’t you worry about me,” Louis replies with a smile, but the fury he feels is threatening to show itself. Just who does Harry think he is?

With one last sceptical glance back at him, Harry walks out of the room, leaving Louis alone and confused. This job is harder than the ever thought it would be.

 

Getting ready is one hell of a task for Louis, as it turns out.

He has no idea what to wear or what to do with his hair. His wardrobe is full with expensive clothes, but he’s never attended a formal dinner, so he has no idea what’s appropriate. To say he’s panicking is an understatement.

He’s standing around in only his underwear, inspecting the clothes one more time, when a short knock can be heard on his door. Before he can do anything though, the door flies open and in waltzes Harry, dressed in posh material and hair styled to the max. The only thing Louis can do is gape in shock as Harry’s eyes widen as well.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis hisses as he quickly grabs his bathrobe to cover himself up. “Can’t you wait for _permission_ to enter a room?”

Harry seems to recover from his surprise quickly, closing the door before saying, “I don’t need permission from _you_! Don’t be silly.”

Louis can merely roll his eyes before he glares at Harry.

Harry, who is currently snooping around in Louis’ room, eyes moving around and inspecting everything.

“Just what do you think you’re doing here, anyway?” Louis snaps, the robe clutched tightly in his hands.

“I’m here to get you,” Harry informs him, his eyes looking Louis up and down once, “but I see you’re not even remotely ready. Care to tell me why that is?”

Now, Louis isn’t exactly a shy person, nor does he get embarrassed easily, but admitting that he has no idea what he should be doing to look presentable at the event tonight to Harry, who’s eyeing him with such apparent arrogance in his eyes, makes his stomach churn uncomfortably.

But he has no choice, so he averts his eyes, finding interest in the patterns on the carpet before mumbling, “I don’t know how to dress.”

He doesn’t dare look up and see the judgment in Harry’s eyes, so he doesn’t.

“What do you mean, you don’t know how to dress? It’s not that hard.”

“Obviously,” he snaps, still looking at anything but Harry’s face, “but I’ve never been to a formal event before, and I have no idea what to wear so I won’t embarrass you and your family.”

Louis immediately regrets opening his damn mouth.

He risks a glance at Harry, and is surprised when he sees the boy’s eyes soften, his mouth slightly open and forming an ‘o’ shape.

“Oh,” Harry says quietly, and Louis would very much like for the awkwardness to be over already. “Well”—Harry clears his throat once—“in that case, I can help you choose something to wear so you won’t make a fool out of yourself. And us, of course,” he quickly adds, and Louis almost lets out a sigh of relief.

Almost.

“That… would be very nice. Thank you.”

Harry just nods and walks over to the wardrobe, sorting through the clothes and trying to find something fitting. Louis feels a little too exposed, standing around with a robe covering his front, so he hopes Harry will be done soon.

“This should suffice for the evening,” Harry tells him after a few moments, handing him a pile of material and a coat hanger with a gorgeous beige coat hanging off of it. “There’s some oil in the bathroom—use it to get your hair in a shape that will look neat. I trust you to do that by yourself, yes?”

They haven’t looked each other in the eye since Louis’ confession, and the awkward atmosphere is making them both uncomfortable.

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Sir Styles,” Louis mumbles.

That’s when Harry looks up and they make eye contact, holding it for a few seconds before Harry clears his throat. With a short nod, he swiftly stalks out of the room, leaving Louis to it.

 

The dinner is as pretentious as Louis expected it to be: rich snobs talking about classical music and politics, and Louis is bored out of his mind. He doesn’t have Eleanor to talk to, which is a shame. He would’ve loved her to come with them, but it’s not his call to make, after all. The guest’s assistants are running around the hall of the posh restaurant, powdering noses and fetching waiters, and Louis is just glad Harry lets him sit at the table in peace, because his mood isn’t the best at the moment and he’s afraid of snapping at Harry if he decides to be an arsehole again.

Harry is as charming as he is with everyone except for Louis, smiling at compliments and laughing at boring jokes, and Louis admires him for knowing exactly what to say to make everyone love him. Louis’ never been that way—he couldn’t care less what people think of him—but the opinion of others is one of the biggest priorities in Harry’s life. How sad it must be to live that way.

“Louis? Are you alright?” Harry’s voice sounds next to him, stopping his train of thought.

“What? Oh, yes. Sorry, I zoned out,” Louis explains, trying hard not to blush as he notices a few eyes on them. “Is there something you need, Sir?”

Harry’s eyes are unreadable, but he gives Louis a small smile. “We’re about to leave, so get ready and then bring me my coat. Please,” he adds as an afterthought, and Louis’ eyes widen slightly. Politeness directed at him? That’s new.

“Of course,” he smiles and stands up to fetch Harry his things, and before he knows it, they’re standing at the entrance of the building, Harry saying his goodbyes.

“It was lovely to see you, Harry.” A man in his forties smiles as he pats Harry’s shoulder, and suddenly he leans closer, speaking so nobody could hear, but of course, Louis hears. “And I know that tomorrow is going to be a hard day for you. I’m sorry for everything that happened. Stay strong, young boy.”

Harry’s smile slips off his face in record time and his chin begins to tremble weirdly, making Louis wonder what the hell the man’s words are supposed to mean. He sees Harry nod shortly before he’s leading the way to their carriage, and soon enough, they’re on their way back to the mansion.

It’s only the two of them, as Harry’s parents are travelling in a different carriage, and the silence in the small space is suffocating. Harry’s shoulders are tense and he is looking out on the streets with a frown—even in the dark, Louis sees the emptiness in his eyes.

“Tonight went well, don’t you think?” he asks with a wry smile, just to break the silence.

Harry spares him one small glance before looking back out of the window, nodding once. Louis sighs and lets it go, leaning back and waiting to arrive home.

Harry’s mood doesn’t lift when they step foot into his home again, the frown staying on his face even when his mother hugs him in the entrance hall and whispers something in his ear before going to bed. Louis doesn’t want to stick around and eavesdrop, but he has no other choice—he isn’t allowed to go to bed unless he makes sure Harry doesn’t need his services anymore. Anne detaches herself from her son to leave, but before she walks up the steps to the chambers, she goes over to Louis, a sad smile on her face.

“Thank you for your work today, Louis, everything went great.”

Louis smiles at her and nods, about to tell her that it was a pleasure, even though it really wasn’t, but she isn’t finished.

“…And you get a day off tomorrow, yes? Go visit your friends; stay however long you would like to, and be back in the morning. Enjoy your day.”

Without waiting for his response, she turns and makes her way up to her room, leaving Louis flabbergasted by the stairs. He has a day off? _What? Why?_ He means to ask Harry, but he notices the boy has gone off somewhere and Louis really isn’t in the mood to look for him now.

So he makes his way to his room, strips and washes himself quickly with a flannel, before letting himself fall into bed. It’s been a long day, and he’s so ready for it to be over.

He falls asleep with excitement in his veins, looking forward to seeing James and the lads again.  

*

A loud crash tears him out of his dreams and he sits up quickly, feeling his head spin. He lets out a small groan and contemplates turning the light on to check the time, but decides against it; the last thing he needs is to be wide awake without being able to fall back asleep again. Louis rubs his eyes and wonders what the hell that sound was, but before he can muster up an explanation, he hears the crash again.

Fear overtakes his body shortly—what if it’s a burglar?—but he knows that the Styles family has strong guards who are good at their job and wouldn’t allow anything to happen, under no circumstances. Another crash makes him stand up on shaky legs. He slips his feet into his boots and grabs his robe, making his way over to the door and opening it slowly. The hallway is empty and the house is quiet, but the sudden scream makes the blood in his veins run cold.

He knows the only people who have their rooms on this floor are Eleanor, Harry and himself, and the shout definitely wasn’t from Eleanor. He doesn’t know whether he should go into Harry’s room and see if he’s okay or if he should get someone else and tell them what he’s heard. Fright runs through him as he slowly walks over to the door to Harry’s room, having no idea what could be hiding behind it, when suddenly the sound of a gut-wrenching sob makes him stop in his tracks. Harry is crying; it can be heard loudly and clearly.

Without thinking any further, Louis opens the door slowly and quietly, suppressing a gasp when he sees what’s going on.

Sitting on the floor in nothing but his underwear is Harry, his arms and upper body splattered with blood, broken picture frames and torn letters all around him. He’s sobbing loudly, looking up at the ceiling, and only now Louis realizes that Harry’s mumbling something.

“How could you?” he whispers to the ceiling before closing his eyes, letting another fresh wave of tears make their way down his face. “How could you leave me? _Why_ did you leave me?” He takes a frame off the floor and looks at it—Louis’ eyes widen as he sees Harry kiss it—before he hurls it at the wall with a scream, the glass shattering all around him. “I love you!” he shouts before he lies on the floor, right onto the shards, crying into his arms miserably.

Louis has no idea what to do.

He can’t leave Harry here like this; he can’t pretend it never happened, but taking care of Harry as if they know each other, might get too weird. Turns out he doesn’t even have to make a decision—Harry makes it for him.

“You,” Louis hears Harry hiss and snaps his head up, meeting Harry’s bloodshot eyes. “You… You aren’t _him!_ ” Harry shouts and stands up, stumbling towards Louis. Louis quickly steps into the room and closes the door, bracing himself for whatever Harry has in mind. When the younger boy is standing in front of him, their noses almost touching, Harry screams, “You aren’t him, and you never will be!”

With that he starts sobbing again, his knees buckling, and Louis thanks God for his fast reflexes because he’s got Harry in his arms in a second. The boy is heavy—of course he fucking is—but Louis manages to hold him somewhat upright with his hands under Harry’s arms, while convincing him to make his legs work.

“Shh, please, Sir—you have to walk! Sir St— _oof_ , _Harry_! You need to _walk,_ for fuck’s sake!” He hisses, trying to maneuver Harry to the bed somehow. It doesn’t really work as well as Louis would like it to, and Harry’s shaking shoulders only makes it harder.

“You left me behind, even though you promised you wouldn’t. Why did you do that to me? Why? Oh _God!_ ” Harry is still mumbling words that make no sense to Louis, but it’s painful to hear them.

“Harry, please; you have to _move._ C’mon, Sir,” Louis tries to explain, steadying Harry as he finally— _fucking finally_ —makes an attempt at walking to the bed. His crying hasn’t stopped at all, and now he’s started to shake violently, shivers ripping through his body, and Louis has never felt so lost. He gets Harry onto the bed and makes sure he’s seated properly before he pulls away.

“Bloody hell, mate. What’s happening?” Louis asks with his mouth turned downwards, and he suppresses a noise as he remembers the blood on Harry’s body. He goes into the bathroom and wets a flannel with warm water before going back and giving it to Harry. “Here, you can clean yourself up with this. You just scratched yourself with the glass; there aren’t any cuts.” He does his best to look anywhere except for Harry’s toned body.

When Harry makes no attempt at reaching for the flannel to clean himself up, Louis looks at him to see what’s wrong, and the sight is just heartbreaking. Harry’s green eyes are swimming in tears and his face is swollen and red, blotchy because of the crying. His bottom lip trembles as he locks eyes with Louis, and he closes his eyes, tears streaming down his face like waterfalls.

“Hey, shh... c’mon now,” Louis tries to comfort, taking the flannel and scrubbing it along the speckles of blood on Harry’s arms. Under no circumstances is he going to touch the rest of Harry’s body; he doesn’t want to be arrested, after all, so this should do. He hopes so, at least. “You need to calm down. All this crying must be unhealthy.”

Harry looks up at him, eyes shimmering with tears, and Louis feels his heartbeat quicken as he drags the wet cloth over Harry’s left shoulder. _What is going on?_

“Have you ever been sad, Louis William Tomlinson?” Harry asks after a few moments of just staring, and Louis is taken aback by the question.

The answer is, yes; he’s been sad. He’s been sad many times. In fact, he doesn’t know how to not be sad anymore these days, the weight of the unpleasant feeling dragging him down everywhere he goes; in whatever he does, he’s got it in the back of his mind. There’s days where he forgets, just for a few short moments, but then it all comes crashing down; the memories, the loss, the misery... Louis shudders at the thought.

“Yes,” is his simple reply, and he gives it with his eyes glazed over.

He finishes cleaning Harry up as good as he can, and he thanks God Harry has stopped crying. When he comes back from the bathroom, he sees Harry staring at the floor, eyes empty.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks cautiously. He doesn’t want to cause another fit, after all, and Harry looks at him with something like admiration in his eyes.

“You’re not him,” is the younger boy’s last reply before he silently stands up and goes into the bathroom. A second later, Louis hears the click of the lock.

Louis stands there with shock written all over his face, not exactly sure what the fuck the night has turned into— _who_ the fuck _Harry_ has turned into. He lets out an exhausted sigh. He doesn’t have the energy to follow Harry out to see what he’s up to now; he just wants to sleep and go see his friends tomorrow. He doesn’t have the strength to deal with Harry’s emotional baggage on top of his own.

When he’s finally settled in bed, he remembers what Harry was repeating over and over. _You’re not him. You’re not him and you never will be._

What was that supposed to mean? Who is it that Harry kept talking about? Louis isn’t sure he wants to know as he shuts his eyes and lets sleep overtake him.


End file.
